


the names she was given, the names she kept

by slambam



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adaar Canon Deviation, Alcohol, Angst, Backstory, Childhood, Death, Dragon Age Quest: Champions of the Just, Dragon Age Quest: In Your Heart Shall Burn, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Redemption, Skyhold, Trespasser DLC, Trespasser Spoilers, in one chapter, loss of limb, mild violence, the chapter titled sweetheart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-05-19 07:49:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5959399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slambam/pseuds/slambam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>inquisitor isn't the only title she's worn over the years. </p><p>these are the stories of the names that meant the most, for better or worse.</p><p>edit 20/6/16: now with some major-ish revisions, I think for the better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ataashari

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  _“Look.” Vat-Asaara lowered her head and tapped one of her horns, where its gold cover ended. Tasnim turned to look, curious, then shifted closer, peering at Vat-Asaara’s horns. They seemed the same as always but as Tasnim looked she noticed, for the first time, a crack a few finger-widths from the base of Vat-Asaara's horn. Little nails, their heads almost completely buried, held the halves together._
> 
> 9:22, Dragon Age.  
> 

“Tasnim.”

 

Tasnim blinked out of her daze, looking across the fire. 

 

“Come here.” Vat-Asaara's voice was gentler than usual - everything about her mentor seemed softer. In the low light of their campfire her face seemed less severe, the scars on her mouth almost melting away. Even her eyes were less piercing, but for all her apparent ease Tasnim knew disobedience wouldn’t be tolerated. She pushed herself to her feet, rubbing one eye with the back of her hand, and trudged around the fire to settle at Vat-Asaara's side.

 

As Tasnim sat, drawing her knees to her chest, Vat-Asaara lowered her head. As Tasnim watched, she combed her fingers through her hair, drawing it away from the base of her horn and over one shoulder. Uncertain, Tasnim sat still and quiet until Vat-Asaara's gleaming eyes caught hers.

 

“Look.” Vat-Asaara said, tapping one of her horns where its gold cover ended.

 

Tasnim leaned in to peer at the stripe of dark horn visible between silvery skin and beaten gold, and quickly realized why Vat-Asaara had called her in so close. From any other distance, it wouldn't have been possible to tell Vat-Asaara's horns weren't intact. The base of her horn had been filed to a fine, flat edge, the pieces so well-fit that were it not for the tiny steel nails that held the pieces together Tasnim might not have noticed at all.

 

“Do you see?” Vat-Asaara spoke again in a low voice after giving Tasnim time to look.

 

“Yes.” Tasnim murmured, unsure of what to say. 

 

Vat-Asaara lifted her head and Tasnim settled back, hugging her knees.

 

“I know it’s difficult, what I’m teaching you. I know you’re tired.”

 

“I’m not - ” Tasnim blurted, but fell silent as Vat-Asaara gave her a sharp look.

 

“I know you are. I want you to understand why it must be this way.” Vat-Asaara kept her eyes forward, jaw knotting with a weary, old anger.

 

Tasnim closed her mouth, heart pounding against her ribs. When she didn't interject again, Vat-Asaara continued, voice hardening as she spoke.

 

“I came from the Qun, like Kost and Saam. I was good. I studied the teachings. I worked hard, and I had potential. I was meant to be part of the Antaam.” Vat-Asaara’s eyes hardened, her fist tightening against the ground. “In the end it didn’t matter how I could fight, or how many verses I could recite, or what I promised I would do. They took everything from me.”

 

“Why?” Tasnim said, quietly, and a knot grew in Vat-Asaara’s jaw.

 

“When I was no older than you, the powers touched me.” Vat-Asaara’s voice was hard as she set her elbow on a raised knee. “Because of that, all that I could have been was lost to them. They saw only their fear. They took my horns, they took my pride - bound me and leashed me and expected me to break.”

 

“How did you get your horns back?” Tasnim blurted. Of all the thoughts swirling in her mind, this was the only one that could find purchase in words.

 

Vat-Asaara kept her eyes forward, her response as cold as her face had become. “I didn’t. I cut these from the man who thought himself fit to hold my leash.”

 

Tasnim turned her head back towards the fire, shaken. She knew that if she looked at Vat-Asaara, all she’d be able to see was that little crack where her mentor’s body met a stranger’s.

 

“I’m telling you this because you need to know that the world will not hesitate to take everything from you. I paid for my freedom in blood, and I still fight for it, every day that I breathe.” Vat-Asaara  lowered her voice. “No one holds your leash, Tasnim. but they will take it if you let them. You must be ready to stop them.”

 

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

 

“Don’t be foolish.” Vat-Asaara snapped. Tasnim shrank back, tears welling in her eyes.

 

After a moment Vat-Asaara reached out to set a hand on Tasnim’s shoulder. Tasnim stared into the fire, unable to make herself turn and look at what she assumed would be disappointment in Vat-Asaara’s face.

 

"The world will not be kind to you,” Vat-Asaara murmured, and Tasnim glanced at her from the corner of her eye. “Kost and Saam like to pretend it will be, but they know nothing of our power. They are weak. You deserve more than they would let you have.”

 

The thought of her parents made the tears finally roll down Tasnim’s cheeks as she still fought to keep her breathing even. Vat-Asaara wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close, and she allowed herself a quiet sob.

 

“I heard once that a long time ago, the Qunari mixed dragon blood into theirs.” Vat-Asaar's voice was uncertain and almost gentle, in the way that a voice unaccustomed to softness sounds. Tasnim swallowed back a rough breath to listen. “The Qunari believe Dragons are too wild, too powerful to be left alive. Like us.”

 

Tasnim turned her face upward hiccoughing as Vat-Asaara met Tasnim’s eyes with an odd warmth in her own.

 

“To the Qunari, we’re dangerous, just power to be leashed. The rest of the world has names for us, too, but we aren’t the same as their apostates and mages. We are better. Stronger.” Vat-Asaara turned her head upwards again. “We’re of the dragons. We are Ataashari.”

 

“Ataashari.” Pride swelled in Tasnim’s chest - the word felt good and she wanted to say it again, feel the sounds rolling around in her mouth.

 

“Glorious people.” Vat-Asaara tightened her arm around Tasnim’s shoulder, looking out into the night. “The world will try to take everything from you, your pride, your freedom. They want to make you less than you are for their own benefit, but you have glory inside you, Tasnim. You must never forget that.”

  



	2. .

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  _“We can’t choose your path for you. You can decide. We’ll wait for you, until tomorrow morning.” Kost’s voice shook, just slightly, and Tasnim bit the inside of her cheek as tears rose to her eyes. “I don’t want to see you lose yourself, Tasnim, I… I don’t want to - ”_
> 
>  
> 
> _Kost's voice, always so full of kindness, spoke of defeat, of sadness, of worry. It took the breath from Tasnim and in a moment she was stripped of her pride, her righteous fury, leaving behind nothing but a foolish child too stubborn to hear reason. For a few moments she stood paralyzed, but as the first tear rolled down her cheek she fled. With an angry burst of breath, Tasnim turned and walked out of the cabin, her back straight and head high._
> 
>  
> 
> _She didn’t stop to scrub away the tears until she was well out of sight, angry that she’d let them fall in the first place._
> 
>  
> 
> 9:31, Dragon Age.  
> 

“Ebasit tracked an Antaam patrol on the coast to the south.” Vat-Asaara set both hands on the table as she scanned the faces of the other Ataashari huddled in the tent, lingering on Ebasit with a small smile. “She's tracked them back. Enough of picking off patrols, Ataashari. We’re going to take the main camp.”

 

Ebasit returned the smile crookedly with a scarred mouth, folding her arms and watching with ready ease. No doubt she and Vat-Asaara had discussed this alone prior to calling the others; the two were inseparable.

 

“What’s the plan?” Tasnim broke the silence, quiet confidence in her voice. Vat-Asaara stood to her full height, training her eyes on Tasnim. The years hadn’t softened Vat-Asaara, and today there was a fire in her eyes that set Tasnim's heart pounding with apprehensive excitement. 

 

“Ebasit, Beras-Taar, Talan, Hissra and Aban come in on foot first to shock. Fire, lightning. Chaos.” Vat-Asaara glanced at each person in turn for confirmation, her eyes made luminous in the dancing torchlight. “The rest of us charge with the horses and herd them against the cliffs. They’ll have nowhere to go.”

 

“You are too hasty.” Meraad broke the silence, unflinching as Vat-Asaara looked at him. He was older than the rest by many years, horns clipped and face scarred by an era before the Qunari found any sympathy for their mages. “What of their weapons? It’s too many soldiers to control. If any escape, they can track us back here, and – ”

 

“You would doubt me, Meraad?” Vat-Asaara’s voice rose as she glared at Meraad until he lowered his gaze in deference, then cast her eyes around the room as though to invite further dissent. “Let them try to follow. There won’t _be_ any escape. We won’t give them the chance.”

 

* * *

 

They had camped here in the warm months for as long as Tasnim could remember, and the small clearing full of tents was quiet in the low light of dusk. Though she policed them mercilessly and allowed most of them no weapons of their own, Vat-Asaara had allowed some non-mages to live alongside them - Tasnim's parents, among others - children too young to control their magic, sometimes with their parents, and the cast-offs of other Tal-Vashoth camps and caravans willing to swear body and soul to Vat-Asaara for what protection she could offer. It was they who negotiated trade with outsiders, who did the work that Vat-Asaara could not do herself.

 

Now, Tasnim passed through the small settlement. It was nearly empty, but bursts of conversation reached her as she passed in front of tents - debates, hushed whispers, and loud laughter. As she walked she straightened her back, squaring her shoulders in pride. It was for them, the battle that would come. For glory, but for their defense, even if Vat-Asaara had paid them little mind in the past days since they'd finalized their plan. Tasnim hadn't been back to the camp since that day, but neither had any of the others. They'd been drilling far from camp and sleeping away, the Ataashari's fervor only compounding in their solitude. Meraad had been markedly absent, but Vat-Asaara said nothing of him, and no one asked.

 

Thoughts of glory and duty faded as Tasnim reached her parent's tent, and it didn't take her long to put together the pieces. No smoke rose from the hole in the tent's roof and their horse was in full tack, half-full saddlebags on the ground near its feet. 

 

Tasnim clenched her jaw and turned on her heel, shoving the tent's flap aside as she shoved her way in.

 

Kost looked up at Tasnim’s arrival, worry already in her eyes. Tasnim realized she'd been expecting this and tensed, narrowing her eyes. Saam kept his head down, continuing to pack away whatever it was he was working on.

 

“So this is it, then.” Tasnim's voice was tight. She flexed one hand into a fist, waiting with bated breath for a reply.

 

“Tasnim,” began Kost, mouth open as she searched for the words, but Saam spoke before she could.

 

“We’re leaving.” 

 

“I knew - Vat-Asaara always told me you'd do this. I didn't want to believe her.” Tasnim muttered, shaking her head. "Meraad talked, didn't he? Old man's soft."

 

“He told us, I - Please, Tasnim, what she’s doing, it’s not – ” There was pain in Kost’s eyes, almost enough to make Tasnim look away. “We can’t stay. It won’t be safe much longer.”

 

Tasnim's face twisted as she spat the next words.

 

“Then leave.” 

 

Kost faltered at the bite in Tasnim’s voice, but reached out with a tentative hand to touch Tasnim's shoulder. Tasnim flinched away, chest tightening as tears pricked her eyes.

 

“Tasnim, this is wrong.” Kost reached out again, pleading now. “These men… they’ve never hurt you, they – ”

 

“Never hurt me? They’d kill _all_ of us if they had the chance! You can't pretend they wouldn't.” Tasnim’s voice rose as she pushed Kost's hand away, trembling now as she stepped back. “If I was under the Qun, they’d – ”

 

“But you were never under the Qun, Tasnim. You have nothing to find revenge for.” Kost hesitated, then lowered her voice. “Please, come with us. We can – ”

 

“We can what?” Tasnim shook her head, brow furrowing. “Hide in the woods? Run away like rabbits? Maybe you can, but I can’t. I am Ataashari. I’m called to _glory_ \- ”

 

“ _Parshaara_ , Tasnim.” Saam’s voice, heavy and tired, cut through the room as he turned. His eyes locked on Tasnim’s, and where she expected to see anger or disappointment there was only an abiding, gutting nothingness. “You don’t see it. These… the Ataashari aren’t any better than the Antaam, or bandits or raiders. They are murderers. You’re as blinded by Vat-Asaara as those soldiers are by the Qun. There’s no glory in this.”

 

"No glory in this?” Tasnim spat, choking on a laugh. “There's no glory in _hiding_. There's no glory in  _cowering_ in the _woods_. I’m protecting everyone. I’m protecting _you,_ because I know you won’t do it yourself.”

 

“You’re killing people who don’t know we exist. That’s not protecting.” Saam turned back to his packing. “You’re baiting a pack of wolves, and they won’t ignore you forever.”

 

For a few long moments, there was silence, and Tasnim kept her eyes on his until he looked away, brow furrowed closely as her hands trembled.

 

“We can’t choose your path for you. You can decide. We’ll wait for you, until tomorrow morning.” Kost’s voice shook, just slightly, and Tasnim bit the inside of her cheek as tears rose to her eyes. “I don’t want to see you lose yourself, Tasnim, I… I don’t want to - ”

 

Kost's voice, always so full of kindness, spoke of defeat, of sadness, of worry. It took the breath from Tasnim and in a moment she was stripped of her pride, her righteous fury, leaving behind nothing but a foolish child too stubborn to hear reason. For a few moments she stood paralyzed, but as the first tear rolled down her cheek she fled. With an angry burst of breath, Tasnim turned and walked out of the cabin, her back straight and head high. 

 

She didn’t stop to scrub away the tears until she was well out of sight, angry that she’d allowed them to fall in the first place.

 

* * *

 

 

Vat-Asaara sat straight-backed and regal on her horse, Ebasit riding in easy silent at her side. The horns Vat-Asaara had hacked from her kills that night hung from her saddle, bouncing against each other with low, haunting tones. Tasnim stared blankly at them as she rode, her horse well-enough surrounded by others that it kept its own pace. She couldn't find words even as the other Ataashari talked, still reeling from the excitement of the fight. The tightness in her chest hadn’t ceased since her conversation with Kost and Saam, and for all the excitement of the fight all she could think was the soldiers she’d killed.

 

They'd all been young - all the soldiers - and now, looking back, Tasnim realized how odd it had been. One of them, her first kill of the night, had barely fought back, fumbling with his sword in the face of a mounted enemy. She didn't spare him. He had no time to strike. There was raw terror in his eyes as he gasped for air, burned and bleeding on the ground and spouting Qunari words Tasnim didn't recognize. As she lifted her pike to make the killing blow he opened his mouth as if to speak but before he could the blade of her pike-turned-staff was in his neck. He choked and gurgled, gripping at the handle of her pike with shaking hands before he fell still, eyes still wide. Tasnim had stared for a moment with something like horror before Vat-Asaara bellowed a command and her mind went back to the fight. The dying soldier’s fear might have sent a thrill of power through her during her first fights, a smug satisfaction, but now she felt only a lingering regret. Under the blood, the Vitaar - those were the eyes of a lost boy, sent to die on an unfamiliar shore.

 

The horses stopped, some tossing their heads and snorting. Tasnim looked up to see Vat-Asaara reining in her horse, her head turned upwards. Tasnim followed her gaze and froze, eyes widening. The low chatter in the group slowed, then stopped.

 

There was smoke billowing in the distance, above the trees.

 

Too much smoke.

 

Tasnim’s eyes widened.

 

With a sharp shout she wheeled her horse around, charging through the Ataashari and turning sharply to head for the flames. Vat-Asaara’s warning shout barely reached her as she pleaded with whatever power might be listening for the smoke not to be real, for it to be anything but what she knew deep down it was.

 

As she neared the clearing it became apparent why the battle that night had been so easy, and she felt sick. They had left the novices, and before her now stood a squad of Qunari soldiers like a wall of iron. As she approached they hefted their weapons, bellowing battle cries she couldn't understand as their mounted soldiers tore from the flames towards the path she'd followed to the campsite. At the heat and the noise Tasnim’s horse bucked and twisted, and before she could steady herself she fell hard on her side. Her horse was already bolting back into the darkness ahead of the advancing Qunari when she managed to right herself. As she looked over her shoulder her breath caught in her throat - the foot soldiers were advancing, and quickly. With a desperate breath she shoved herself to her feet and fled into the burning wreckage.

 

From behind her she could hear shouting, the neighing of horses and cracks of fire and lightning that heralded the arrival of the other Ataashari, but there was no screaming, no life, no sign of the young, the weak, the ones without magic. They'd had no weapons, and Tasnim choked at the thought - why had Vat-Asaara still forbidden it, after all their loyalty? She ran through the rows of burning shanties and tents, desperate for someone, until she reached the place she’d come home to for years.

 

The final poles of her parent's tent toppled just as she stopped, and her mind went blank. Bodies, piled and blackened beyond recognition, were scattered at the edges of her vision. She couldn’t make herself move to look closer, trembling, her breath coming fast and shallow. 

 

She didn't notice the soldier advancing behind him until he roared, hefting his weapon and as she whirled to face him she hit him with a ball of flame just in time to make him stumble. It wasn’t enough to stop his blade and it bit deep into her upper arm. Pain seared through her and time seemed to slow as he lifted the blade again, to kill this time. Tasnim lurched backwards, dropping her pike to clutching her shoulder, wide eyes watering and lungs burning from the smoke. She turned and sprinted for the trees, gone into the darkness before he realized he was burning.

 

* * *

 

_My fault._

 

She couldn’t hear the fighting anymore when nausea forced her to stop running. She stumbled to a halt, leaning against a tree and gulping air into her burning lungs.

 

_My fault._

 

The world stopped spinning and she took off again. Kost and Saam could have been gone. They should have been. They should have all left together, but they had stayed and it was all her fault – pride, all for fucking nothing. 

 

Now they - all of them, Kost and Saam and the others - were dead, or worse. The image of her parents, dead-eyed and complacent from Qamek burned in her mind and nausea overtook her again, overpowering, this time bending her almost double as she heaved. When it passed, when she was empty, her abdomen aching, tears welling in her eyes, she tried to run. After a few paces her foot caught on something and she toppled, landing hard enough that it knocked the breath out of her. She managed to push herself up again, forcing her legs to move even as she sobbed.

 

_My fault, my fault, my fault._

 

* * *

 

It was barely dawn when she stumbled out of the woods, exhausted.

 

There was a town – that much she could process, and she took a moment to gather what was left in her mind before staggering down the road, clutching her shoulder loosely.

 

There was a building that looked like an inn - or at least what she remembered inns should look like - and she shouldered the door open with her good arm, swallowing down the smoke and dust that caked her throat.

 

The serving girl let out a squeak of shock, the plates on her tray clattering as she jumped. Tasnim stood, startled and empty-minded, forgetting what came next.

 

“Hey!” The barman tossed down his rag, slamming his hand down on the bar. “Hey, oxman! We don’t want any trouble, so just – ”

 

“Bandages,” she remembered in a rasp, the word falling clumsily from her chapped lips.

 

“I – bandages? What the fuck are you saying, ox? I told you to get out!”

 

“Colton, stop! I think she’s - ” A woman’s voice, rising in panic, and the man’s rising louder to drown her out. Tasnim shook her head, mouthing the word again as she swayed. The woman said something shrilly, pointing, and Tasnim swallowed hard, brow furrowing before fuzzy blackness rose behind her eyes.

 

* * *

 

Her eyes flickered open to a view of shadows dancing across a stone ceiling. Her body ached, her shoulder most of all, but as she glanced down she saw it was bandaged neatly. The outpouring of blood was gone except for a few dark spots on the clean linen.

 

 

“Easy, now.” A gentle, deliberate voice came from close by, and Tasnim glanced over to see a human woman perched on a chair near the cot she’d been laid out on. “You’ve been unconscious for a long time, I helped, understand? My name is Sister Agatha. You’re in the Chantry, you’re - you’re safe, child.”

 

Tasnim stared at her blankly for a few moments, trying to clear her thoughts before pushing herself up to sit.

 

“I can… oh dear, do you even speak the common tongue? You were - you were covered in blood when you arrived. What happened?"

 

Without a word, Tasnim rolled her good shoulder, shaking her head. She couldn't find the words even if she wanted to, and she wouldn't find them for this woman.

 

"I... I see. Well, I apologize for the ugliness at the inn. We've had trouble, you understand, but you're welcome to stay as long as you like - I -”

 

Tasnim let Sister Agatha fall into perplexed silence, twisting the gold cuff on her horn until it came loose. With it in hand she pushed herself to her feet, swaying before finding balance, and shuffled forward, head down.

 

“... you can stay here, child. You are welcome.”

 

Tasnim made a choked sound at the kindness in her voice and dropped the cuff into the sister's lap before limping through the door.

 

* * *

 

Each step Tasnim took across the razed camp sent a puff of ash into the air and a twinge of pain up into her arm. The few dark spots on the bandage had blossomed into blooms of crimson at her efforts to  A smell of smoke hung heavy over the field. It was silent. If there were survivors, they had left long ago. Even the corpses were gone.

 

As she reached the place where the tent should have been, she dropped to her knees, slowly, reaching down to support herself. The ground was still warm. Her head pounded, her shoulder throbbed.

 

She didn’t know how long she stayed that way, half-conscious, body hollow and aching. Hoofbeats roused her from her stupor, but she didn’t look up. The haunting notes of horns striking horns told her who approached.

 

She felt the bulk of the horse behind her as it halted, and curled in on herself under the weight of Vat-Asaara’s cold stare.

 

“I lost Ebasit. And Meraad.” Vat-Asaara’s voice was hard, but there was a tight sadness behind it. Anger, barely contained.

 

Tasnim didn’t respond, staring at her hands.

 

“You gave us away. We might have been able to surprise them, get an advantage.” Vat-Asaara’s voice didn’t soften, but as she spoke again, she couldn't keep it from breaking. “Great people are dead for your carelessness.”

 

Tears rose to Tasnim’s eyes as she shook her head.

 

“And for what? For _Kost_ and _Saam?_ ” Anger rose slowly in Vat-Asaara’s voice. “They were weak, and they made you weak.”

 

Tasnim said nothing, tears rolling down her cheeks to land in the ash.

 

Vat-Asaara let the silence hang between them. Tasnim wished for a blade in the back of her neck, braced for it, it but when Vat-Asaara spoke again it cut Tasnim deeper than any blade could. 

 

“I’ll mourn the person you should have been.”

 

With a muffled thud, the two halves of Tasnim's snapped staff landed at her side and it was all she could do not to collapse. Without another word, Vat-Asaara snapped the reins of her horse. Tasnim listened to its hoofbeats until they faded to nothing.


	3. sweetheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> _She could sleep in a stable. She'd done it before, for all the risk that entailed, but deep down she knew that even after getting as drunk as she could afford to one more night alone with her thoughts would tear her apart in a way cold and wind never could._
> 
> 9:32, Dragon Age.  
> 

Tasnim stared into the last dregs of her ale, hunching over the bar. Her legs ached, sore even past the numb of the ale she’d been drinking since she arrived. The walk between this town and the last had been longer than most, especially through the thick first snow, and the cold was beginning to take its toll. The tavern was warm enough, certainly, but at her core the knot her guts had tied themselves into held in the chill along with a gnawing despair.

Her pockets had been almost empty when she arrived, the few coppers she had left gone to her first few drinks. The world outside was an abyss of frigid pitch darkness, a relentless wind driving snow against the sturdy walls of the tavern. There was no doubt in her mind that it would be her death if she slept outside, as she’d done for as long as she could since the fire.

Maybe that’s why she’d tolerated the gaze of the human across the bar, and maybe that’s why she’d let herself drink on his coin all night. She told herself that was why she let him look at her like that – just for utility, and yet. She could sleep in a stable. It might be warm enough. She'd done it before, even with the threat of being caught, but deep down she knew that even after getting as drunk as she could afford to one more night alone with her thoughts would tear her apart in a way cold and wind never could.

Tasnim gulped down the last of the warm ale in her tankard and let her head loll forward, leaning heavily on the bar. The man was still looking, she could tell, but the alcohol numbed the anxious buzzing in her abdomen. After a few quiet moments, she swallowed the last of her uncertainties and stood.

He wasn’t bad looking, for a human. Dark eyes, lines written into his face, black hair, or brown – she couldn’t tell in the light. Those dark eyes traveled over her like the tip of a dagger as she stood next to his barstool and she fought the urge to shiver, keeping her eyes down. He reached out, setting a hand on her waist, and she looked up to see him smiling. It wasn't an unkind smile.

“Knew you’d come around, sweetheart.” He murmured, running his hand up her side. No one had touched her that way before, and she froze, stomach twisting as he gazed expectantly into her face.

The wind howled against the windows, and the smile she offered him didn’t reach her eyes.


	4. Adaar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> __  
> Tasnim immediately furrowed her brow, tensing and narrowing her eyes. How did he know? Robert pushed the ale back across the bar at her, his look hard enough to give even her pause.
> 
>  
> 
> _“Look at me like that all you like, girl. Doesn’t change the fact you are what you are.” He kept his voice low as he leaned in closer. “Wendy told me what you did. I could’ve turned you in to the patrols when they came asking about the apostate oxman who bloodied up the Lord’s son, but I didn’t, and she didn’t, and none of mine did, neither. You can trust me.”_
> 
>  
> 
> 9:33, Dragon Age.  
> 

“Well, look who it is! Didn’t know if you’d be back.”

 

Tasnim met the barman’s eyes as she slid onto the stool. Robert was unphased by her icy stare, somewhat to her irritation. It used to give him pause, but then, that was months ago. Robert was probably more familiar with her than anyone had been in years. She pushed a silver across the bar towards him, maintaining her silence and her distance. For all his familiarity he still knew small talk was no interest of hers, so he took the coin and bounced it in his hand, gauging its weight, before pocketing it and turning to fill a tankard for her. He set it across from her with a curt nod and a small, knowing smile. Tasnim frowned at his back as he turned but set her suspicions to the back of her mind with the first drink of ale. The warmth of the fire and soft drone of late-night chatter pressed in around her, and when Robert slid the usual bowl of stew and hunk of bread across the bar towards her she almost felt at home. 

 

It had already been late when she arrived, and before long a few of the larger groups of patrons had stumbled out into the night or to the rooms upstairs. With the place quieting and Tasnim on her third ale Robert stepped closer, standing across from her and setting an elbow on the bar. She eyed him, shifting in her seat, and leaned in.

 

“You see that big brute there, by the door?” He said in a murmur, tilting his head in that direction.

 

She’d seen and avoided the big brute sat on her way in. Of the crowd of Tal-Vashoth sitting at the table Robert gestured towards he was the biggest, and certainly the oldest. He was bearded, covered with knotted scars and laden with jewelry. His two broad sets of horns capped in gold, and the excess set Tasnim's jaw in a knot. Not unusual for wealthy Tal-Vashoth, although Tasnim didn’t make it a point to hang around and gawk at them.

 

She looked back at Robert.

 

“He’s a mercenary captain, name of Kaaras Asala.” Robert said under his breath.

 

A mercenary captain. That explained the finery. Tasnim exhaled through her nose.

 

“What about it?” She muttered.

 

“Ah, so she _does_ speak full sentences.” Robert said brightly in mock-delight, chuckling at the cutting look Tasnim gave him.

 

Tasnim stayed silent, brow furrowing as she knocked back the rest of her drink.

 

“The man needs a mage.” Robert took the empty tankard and turned to refill it.

 

Tasnim immediately furrowed her brow, tensing and narrowing her eyes. Robert pushed the ale back across the bar at her, unphased.

 

“Look at me like that all you like. Doesn’t change the fact you are what you are.” He kept his voice low as he leaned in closer. “Wendy told me what you did. Beat the love of the Maker out of the Lord's son to save her, right? I could’ve turned you in to the patrols when they came asking about the apostate oxman who bloodied up the Lord’s son, but I didn’t and none of mine did, neither. You can trust me, girl.”

 

Tasnim closed her mouth, brow still furrowed. It had been a week or so, now, and it was all just flashes of sensation - the metallic crackle of lightning, a rush of air as Wendy ran frantically past her into the night - the crunch of the boy’s nose against the wall and how he'd begged for mercy curled up at her feet. 

 

“Like I said, Asala needs a mage. That’s you.” Robert kept his eyes fixed on her face as he continued. “It’s a two week job. Local. Good pay for special services.”

 

Tasnim glanced over at Kaaras, suppressing a shiver as she realized he’d been watching. Suddenly, his eyes snapped to hers and she felt powerless to break the gaze, heart pounding faster and faster against her ribs. Slowly, he turned back to his men and Tasnim's eyes shot down to the bar. She folded her arms, trying to force herself calm. 

 

_Just a man. He's only a man._

 

“Look, girl.” Robert let out a heavy sigh, keeping his voice down, and Tasnim lifted her head to look at him. “You keep your head down, you stay out of trouble. 'Least in town. You saved Wendy from that son of a bitch. I can’t abide you freezing to death out there.  but I can’t put you up for free. It’s not much, but it’s coin, and if you’re halfway decent there’ll be more jobs. Asala’s got contacts.”

 

Tasnim kept her eyes on his as she set down the tankard, letting out a long breath.

 

“I’m not putting anything on paper,” She muttered, and glanced up to see Robert looking over her shoulder. 

 

“Smart girl," Kaaras Asala said, in a voice like falling rocks. 

 

Tasnim almost jumped at the voice directly behind her, but was infinitely relieved she hadn't. Slowly she turned, keeping her face even as she sized Asala up. He seemed even larger up close, his gold ornaments glittering in the torchlight like so many winking eyes. She tried to keep the touch of fear she felt from her face as he locked her gaze with his.

 

“You do fire?” He asked.

 

Tasnim nodded.

 

“Good,” he said, flatly. “You’ll get half pay up front and the rest when it’s done. You serve your end, I’ll serve mine. I don’t need any more contract than that.”

 

His bulk blocked Tasnim’s view of the rest of the tavern, and she fought the urge to fidget.

 

She needed the money, Robert wasn’t wrong. Her last silver had just gone in his pocket, and it was getting cold, fast, already a worse winter than the last. She’d barely made it through that one, and hunting and trading wouldn’t be good enough coin much longer.

 

 

“I’ll do it.” 

 

As soon as she spoke a pouch landed next to her on the bar with a metallic clink.

 

“10 sovereigns worth. Count it if you want.” Asala rumbled, folding his arms.

 

Tasnim lifted it carefully, loosening the cord and glancing inside. 

 

Coin.

 

Lots of coin. Mostly silver with a few scattered coppers and a few gold pieces, but it was more than she’d ever seen in one place.

 

“Satisfied?” Asala straightened, shifting his weight to the other foot.

 

Tasnim nodded and looked up, drawing the pouch closer to her chest protectively. The corner of Asala's mouth twitched up just slightly as his eyes softened.

 

“How are you called, saarebas?”

 

She looked back at Asala, locking her eyes on his and taking a moment to scrutinize him before replying.

 

“Adaar,” she said, flatly.

 

Kaaras laughed and Tasnim jumped, clutching the pouch tighter.

 

“Weapon. Of course.” Asala pushed off from the bar, nodding at her before turning back towards his table. “Come back here tomorrow then, _Adaar._ We’re leaving at midday.”

  



	5. Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“So, Adaar. You going to stick around this time?” Shokrakar smiled, raising her eyebrows._
> 
> _Shokrakar had tried this the last few jobs, and it was becoming almost enough to make Tasnim want to turn tail and head north for a year. She met Shokrakar’s eyes, not bothering to mask her annoyance as she took a long drink. When Shokrakar didn’t falter, eyebrows still raised, Tasnim exhaled hard and looked away._
> 
> _“You know I won’t.” She muttered, finishing off her ale._
> 
> _“Oh, give it a rest.” Shokrakar grunted, pushing herself up onto the stool next to Tasnim, who scowled at her. It did no good. Shokrakar kept talking._
> 
> 9:41, Dragon Age.  
> 

It had been almost ten years since the Qunari occupation of Kirkwall, but many taverns, especially those in bigger towns in the Free Marches, held on to a general wariness about Qunari. The owners of this particular tavern, however, held to the belief that coin was coin no matter how big or how grey the hands that it came from were and welcomed the owners of those hands (and the gold they carried) with open arms.

That, along with the fact that of the taverns in this particular backwater this one was the best stocked, largest, and warmest, made it a post-job favorite of the Valo-Kas company.

The place was noisy and chaotic. It was that kind of tavern, and that kind of night, even without the addition of a small mob of Vashoth mercenaries celebrating the end of a particularly lucrative job. Ale and spirits flowed freely, cards whizzed across tables and thunderous, booming laughter rang throughout the tavern as all the patrons intermingled, elf and human and Vashoth alike.

Tasnim, as was her custom, sat apart, in the quietest corner of the bar she could find. Adaars taken by the wild emotion of drunken merriment wasn’t something typical Tal-Vashoth liked to see. The Valo-Kas weren’t that way, though - she’d seen their previous permanent Adaar drunk off his ass more times than she could count, but her solitude was so habitual that she maintained it anyway.

Or tried to.

Tasnim watched from the corner of her eye as Shokrakar sidled up to the bar. She wasn’t nearly as drunk as some of her men and from the look on her face Tasnim knew exactly why. Setting down her flagon, Tasnim sighed, and set her face for what was to come.

“So, Adaar. You going to stick around this time?” Shokrakar smiled, raising her eyebrows.

Shokrakar had tried this the last few jobs, and it was becoming almost enough to make Tasnim turn tail and head north for the year. She met Shokrakar’s eyes, not bothering to mask her annoyance as she took a long drink. When Shokrakar didn’t falter, eyebrows still raised, Tasnim exhaled hard and looked away.

“You know I won’t.” She muttered, finishing off her ale.

“Oh, give it a rest.” Shokrakar grunted, pushing herself up onto the stool next to Tasnim, who scowled at her. It did no good. Shokrakar kept talking. “We need a permanent mage after the last one kicked it. Might as well be you.”

“There are other mages.” Tasnim tapped her empty tankard on the bar, lifting it as the barman looked towards her.

“Yeah, but you’re the only one I want to hire.” Shokrakar leaned an elbow on the bar, eyes on Tasnim's face.

Tasnim said nothing, watching the barman work and tapping her fingertips on the bar. Shokrakar waited a few moments before speaking again.

“I like you stubborn, Adaar, but don’t be stupid.” She leaned in and Tasnim glanced at her, brow furrowing. “It’s not like it used to be out there. You’ve got the human arvaarads crawling all over the hills, and when they find you they won’t like you any more than they like the human mages. Probably less.”

“They haven’t found me yet.” Tasnim looked straight ahead, a knot in her jaw, her voice low.

“They _will_.” Shokrakar’s voice hardened. “You’ll be better off in a company.”

“I’ll manage.” Tasnim kept her voice even.

Shokrakar stared for a moment, then leaned back, exhaling and nearly rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, well. Whatever. Fine.” Shokrakar set an elbow on the bar and grabbed Tasnim’s refilled tankard before Tasnim could take it. “If you need another job, we’ve got a big one coming up.”

Tasnim frowned as Shokrakar started to gulp down the ale – _her_ ale – but there was something else. Shokrakar had never accepted her refusals so quickly. The way Shokrakar’s eyes crinkled - since when had her wrinkles deepened like that? - told Tasnim she was smiling, and that told her there had to be some kind of a catch. She narrowed her eyes and Shokrakar lifted an eyebrow at her over the rim of the tankard, smile only widening, and Tasnim couldn’t stop her face from softening. With a defeated sigh, Tasnim set both elbows on the bar and gestured for the barman to bring another ale. Shokrakar slammed the tankard down, wiping her mouth on her sleeve.

“The humans down south are having some kind of big dangerous meeting thing up in the mountains. Human mages and basarvaarads and nobles, all of them in one spot. Seems like a shit idea to me, but they’re looking at the Valo-Kas to run security.” Shokrakar smiled. “It’s gold. Big, _fat_ Chantry gold, Adaar. I know you have to keep yourself in ale somehow.”

Tasnim turned towards the bar and settled a hand on the new tankard the barman slid towards her.

Might as well bite.

“Sure.” She said, lifting the tankard to her mouth and bracing herself for the grand reveal of Shokrakar’s ace in the hole. 

“See, that’s the thing.” Shokrakar said, and Tasnim’s brows furrowed again. There it was. She didn’t have to see Shokrakar to know she had a very specific smirk on her face.

Tasnim waited for Shokrakar to speak, then sighed, shaking her head. “Just say it.” 

“There’s lots of liability here. Lots of shit that could go sour.” Shokrakar spoke deliberately, and Tasnim’s hand practically creaked around the handle of her tankard. “Taarlok doesn’t want anyone going who’s not on a contract. He likes you. _I_ like you - for some reason - but I don’t know if we could let you come along unsigned.”

Tasnim frowned. “Give me another two month, then.”

“S’not possible.” Shokrakar said, grinning. “Taarlok’s really in a mood. He wants a year or nothing on anyone new.”

Tasnim shook her head, looking down at the bar.

“Oh, come on, Adaar. How long are you going to keep this up?” Shokrakar said, a touch of frustration in her voice. Tasnim looked up. “You’ve been working with us, what, five years, on and off? You know my men. None of them are going to kill you or cut your tongue out or… whatever, and so long as you keep doing your job, no one’s going to stop you from brooding. Not like they _could_. I think you’d die if you couldn’t sulk.”

Tasnim half-laughed through her nose, unable to stop herself. No one else needled her like Shokrakar did, but then again, she hadn’t worked as much with anyone else. Shokrakar was a good leader, a good person, and Tasnim trusted her, at least more than she trusted the other captains who hired her on.

How many times had she lingered after a job with the Valo-Kas, sitting across the room and watching the company celebrate? How many times had she watched them ride out in the mornings, not to see them again until their paths crossed again months later?

She didn’t deserve it, she thought, that was why, but where the thought had been an insurmountable barrier in past years it seemed like martyrdom more than rational thought. She shifted, swallowing hard.

“I don't know what you keep kicking yourself over, but let it go. I’m used to you, you’re a good fighter, and most importantly it’s a lot of fucking effort to _find_ a good mage these days, and I don’t want to _do_  that when I’ve got the best damn mage in the Free Marches right here in front of me.” Shokrakar continued, glancing off to one side with a low sigh. “And… well. You’re a friend. Wouldn’t mind having you around more often, and I like knowing you aren't dead.”

Tasnim blinked, startled. Shokrakar looked confused at her expression but offered a smile anyway, taking another drink.

Maybe she was getting too old for this.

“Alright.” Tasnim said, carefully, after a few moments.

“Alright?” Shokrakar looked almost surprised.

Tasnim looked away, raising the tankard to her lips. “The year contract. You’ve got me.”

There was a trace of relief in Shokrakar’s voice. “Knew you would. You’re not as good at this hermit shit as you used to be, you know.”

Tasnim glanced at her out of the corner of her eye, taking a drink to hide her smile.


	6. Boss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  _There is familiarity in his voice, confidence. She isn’t sure what to say and she steps forward only to be intercepted by some noble with a mask, presumptions, and an unfamiliar name. She is swept away from her companions, and feels their absence like a ship feels the sudden loss of its anchor in a tossing sea._
> 
> 9:41, Dragon Age.

“Hey,” he says. The friendliness in his voice is hollow, and his eye says Tal-Vashoth, if only faintly. It says _Seheron_ , it says _there are good men dead, and the ones who killed them were like you_. She assumes he can’t help it, or doesn’t want to. She is Vashoth, not Tal-Vashoth, but that doesn’t matter. She doesn’t care. She didn’t sign him on to be her friend. She isn’t there to be his. He’s a good fighter, and he has a good company, and she knows that if you can trust one thing in this world it’s that a Ben-Hassrath will do his job.  
  
She gives him a small nod and continues on her way to Harrit. No need to make words when he doesn’t want them and she doesn’t want to say them. She has no patience for pleasantries, now or before, and what would they mean? They both know the world is ending. The last thing that matters is how he looks at her.  


* * *

 

“What’s your read?” he asks. They are standing at the bridge of Therinfal Redoubt, nobles scattered ahead, tittering to Templars and each other. She is startled by the question, but thinks for a moment and then opens her mouth to speak.

“Something’s not right.” She says, voice cutting, staring at the keep but speaking to him. “Lay low, unless - until one of them makes a move.”  
  
Cassandra and Varric murmur their agreement, and Bull waits until they’re through to speak.

“Got it.”

There is familiarity in his voice, confidence. She isn’t sure what to say and she steps forward only to be intercepted by some noble with a mask, presumptions, and an unfamiliar name. She is swept away from her companions, and feels their absence like a ship feels the sudden loss of its anchor in a tossing sea.

 

* * *

 

Her outburst of feeling catches like a dagger in her throat, echoing in her ears as the hissing sneers of the envy demon bounce around her skull. She is afraid, cripplingly afraid - but she is always afraid. Now she is just too drunk, too overcome to hide it anymore.

She wants to crawl out of her skin as the silence digs into her like so many needling claws. He doesn't speak, but he takes the bottle of spirits from the table, swallows it in a few gulps. Gone down his throat so she can't force it down hers. The bottle taps quietly on the table as he sets it back down. She stares at it, unbidden, cold tears in her eyes.

“Get some sleep, Boss,” he says, standing across from her. His voice is low, barely a rumble in the dark, but there is warmth in it. It’s cold. The wind rattles the shutters. She shivers, but she doesn’t mean to. She doesn’t watch as he leaves, crumpling under the weight of his compassion.

 

* * *

  
“We’re with you, Boss.” Quiet respect in his voice, trust, _belief_.  
  
The creature shrieks in the sky above them and Haven burns. They turn to face the Chantry doors, and she pauses with one hand on the worn wood as she catches his eye. It shines with adrenaline, excitement, with the battles they’ve already fought and the anticipation of the fight they’re walking into, but it also says friend. For a moment, as he catches her eye, she sees regret on his face. Her chest aches.

It should have been different, she thinks, and as she pushes the door open to face what she knows is death she forces herself not to think of what might have been.


	7. Herald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  _She always had been, but now, for the first time, she felt worthy of their faith._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> 9:41, Dragon Age.

As Tasnim wandered further into the waste, the cold and wind eating away at what little lucidity exhaustion had left her, it felt more and more like a fever dream. Haven, Corypheus, the Conclave – it all felt unreal, a nightmare brought on by too much drink, or too little. There was nothing concrete to feel anymore but the cold, and now, she was losing even that. She had long since stopped shivering, and any sensation of pain she might have felt from the fight with the Venatori or the fall to the mineshaft had been smoothed over into a burning numbness that blanketed her entire form. Her only sense that remained true was sight, but she walked on, driven forward by something she couldn’t remember anymore.

As her mind faltered, her memory flickered backwards, and suddenly it was ten years past – young, her first winter alone - cold, no cloak, boots too worn to be any good, no money for a place to sleep. Frightened, but there was light in the distance - she stumbled through a sudden blizzard with renewed vigor towards what she hoped was safety and warmth.

She managed only a few running steps before her foot landed on something slick buried deep in the snow, dragging her back to the present as she toppled forward with a hoarse grunt.

Exhaustion set immediately upon her as she lay there, the snow burning against her face, and after a moment she let her eyes flicker slowly closed.

Another time, a night that was so cold and so still that just breathing the air felt like an intrusion. She fell then, too, lurching drunkenly out of a tavern, and stayed quiet and still until rough hands pulled her up, back to her feet and into the tavern. She had begged the men to leave her even as they deposited her, sobbing, in front of the fire - who would miss her if they left her to die?

The wind howled above her, and she exhaled, slowly, sensation leaching from her body into the snow.

Who would miss her now, if she stayed quiet and still until the snow made her nothing?

_No._

The new thought rose like a flame in her mind, bright and driving, and she opened her eyes. Faces flashed through her mind faster than she could process them, the faces of her companions, the people she fought to protect, and her hands curled into fists in the snow.

_They’re waiting for me._

Haven was destroyed, she couldn’t change that, but the Inquisition would not mourn the person she should have been. Tasnim pushed herself to her feet, clinging to the sensation of pain in her left hand as it flared with the mark. As she staggered, regaining her balance, it subsided into the same dull throb it had kept to since she awoke in the tunnel, and she timed her steps with it, her breathing – anything to keep her mind together. She locked her eyes on that patch of light - imagined or otherwise - in the distance, squinting past the tears the wind stung from her eyes.

_Left, right, left, right, stumble, catch yourself, keep moving. Can't stop. Can’t stop. Keep moving. Keep moving. Keep moving._

In the distance, they sat like lines of ink in the white snow, and at the sight of them Tasnim found herself rushing forward, tripping over herself in her frenzy to get closer. The pot and the stakes set up near it were a jolt of something familiar, something that bore the mark of civilization in the formless wasteland. She put her hands on the pot, relieved beyond relief that it was solid under her hands – she couldn’t feel its details through the cold, but it was solid, and on the ground – embers. Still warm.

They had been there, she realized, and her heart thudded against her ribs with new vigor. She struggled forward, curling in on herself with her head tucked to her chest to preserve the little warmth she had left.

_Left, right, left, right, left, right, they’re waiting, they’re waiting, they’re waiting –_

“There! It’s her!”

_Cullen._

“Thank the Maker!”

_Cassandra._

Tasnim collapsed to her knees, falling sideways in the snow as they reached her. Strong hands righted her and pulled her upwards as shoulders, strong to match the hands, slid beneath hers. She leaned heavily on Cassandra and Cullen as they walked her down the slope to the camp, to heat and light. As Tasnim lifted her head to look around she caught the eye of a scout, and he froze at the sight of her, faltering.

“Maker’s breath, is that – ”

“The Herald,” Cassandra said, an unfamiliar strain in her voice. “Find a healer. Go. Now!”

 _Herald._ It always sounded real in Cassandra’s voice. Tasnim let her head loll forward, breathing raggedly and closing her eyes as her knees buckled again. Cassandra cursed and shifted, catching her and putting her shoulder more solidly under Tasnim’s. Cassandra’s next words barely reached Tasnim’s ears, and her eyes rolled back in her head as her knees finally gave out.  

 

* * *

 

For as exhausted as Tasnim still felt, sleep didn’t come. The voices of the people of Haven still rang in her ears as she lay stiffly on her bedroll, wrapped tight in her cloak, staring blankly at the heavy tent canvas above her.

“Oh.”

The sudden voice startled Tasnim from her daze and she sat up, looking to the open flap of the tent where Cassandra stood, straight-backed and hollow-eyed.

“I apologize. I did not realize you were still awake.” Cassandra paused, shifting her weight slowly to her other foot. “I was only here to see that you were… still alive.”

Tasnim slid her legs over the side of the cot, gripping its edge and watching Cassandra as she lowered her eyes, struggling with something, opening her mouth as though to speak.

With a frustrated huff, Cassandra lifted her eyes. “May I – ”

“Please.”

Cassandra looked almost as surprised by Tasnim’s reply as Tasnim felt hearing it from her own mouth, but if there was a time for convention and habit to dictate actions, this certainly wasn’t it. Letting the tent flap fall behind her, Cassandra walked to the cot and sat down heavily next to Tasnim, exhaling and staring blankly at the canvas wall across from them.

The women sat in silence for a few moments, making use of the unique solace the Herald’s tent offered, for now, and Tasnim leaned forward, putting her elbows on her knees and letting her eyes fall half-closed. Cassandra had been a pillar in all of this, and even now, her presence grounded Tasnim in a way nothing else had.

“I… I will not ask how you survived. That question will come later, I’m sure, from many more people than just I.” Cassandra set her hands in her lap, hesitating for a moment before murmuring something Tasnim didn’t expect. “I suppose… I suppose I knew you would return to us.”

Tasnim watched Cassandra out of the corner of her eye, turning her head slightly. Cassandra’s shoulders slumped as she rubbed her hands - but of course they did. Even the Seeker, resolute, steadfast, would not come out of Corypheus’s Haven unscathed, physically or mentally, but there was a softness and an apprehensiveness in Cassandra’s face that Tasnim had never witnessed. Her chest tightened.

“Maybe that is foolish for me to admit, considering the circumstances. Perhaps it’s only that I could not bring myself to think of a world where you didn’t return.” Cassandra turned her head, meeting Tasnim’s eyes. “Things are… uncertain. It will not be easy. We have much to rebuild, but you should know that we would not have come this far without you.”

Tasnim lowered her gaze, mouth going dry.

“I’ve done everything I could,” she managed, hoarsely.

“You have changed _everything_.” Cassandra’s voice was still low, but firmer. “In ways we never could have predicted when this began. I never imagined I would think so, but whatever comes next for the the Inquisition, I would not have it happen without you, Herald.”

_Herald._

It resonated inside her ribcage, struck her deep in her core. The guilt and shame and frustration that had always clung to the title in her mind didn’t come and she looked away from Cassandra, hands suddenly trembling. For the first time, Tasnim saw what she had done through the eyes of the people she did it for, and she was overcome. All those people – the refugees in the Hinterlands, the soldiers in the Mire, the people of Haven– all those faces turned towards her as they sang, voices rising even as all they had worked to build lay silent, razed and buried under an age’s worth of snow.

Cassandra called her Herald – she had since the beginning. She had always believed, even when no one else could see. The people of Haven had believed, too, perhaps not always with the same resolve as their Seeker, but she was their Herald. She always had been, but now, for the first time, she felt worthy of their faith.

She saved them.

A decade of knotted, tangled guilt loosened in her chest and her she lowered her head, taking a deep, shuddering breath. Cassandra set a hand on Tasnim’s shoulder, hesitant and then assuring as the Herald of Andraste put her face in her hands and wept, and wept, and wept.


	8. Inquisitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  _Fists driven into the air and cheers, louder and louder, punctuated each of Cullen’s questions, and Tasnim parted her lips just slightly to accommodate her quickening breath. A year ago – even just months ago – she would have fled from half as many faces turned towards her as there were in the crowd below, but the person she was then bore little resemblance to the person she had become, the occasions to which she’d risen. She stood to her full height as Cullen spoke again, heart beating wildly against her ribs._
> 
>  
> 
> 9:41, Dragon Age.

“Wherever you lead us.”

 

The faith in Cassandra’s voice still struck Tasnim at her core, and she kept her eyes on Cassandra’s face until the Seeker looked out towards the gathering crowd. The sword Leliana presented to Tasnim was heavy and solid in her hands, the bloodstone eyes of the metal dragon curled around its hilt glinting in the cold mountain sun. Tasnim took a tentative step forward, and might have reeled as a hundred pairs of eyes – eyes she knew – turned fully towards her. Her heart pounded, blood rushing dully in her ears as she stood, wordless.

  
“Have our people been told?” Cassandra’s voice cut powerfully through the air, and Josephine stepped forward to answer, beaming.

 

“Yes. And soon, the world!” The joy in Josephine’s voice stirred something in Tasnim and she lifted her chin, gripping the sword tighter. The world. The eyes of all of Thedas were on her now, and though the thought terrified her she would not dream of fleeing. Not now, not ever again.

 

“Commander, will they follow?” Cassandra turned her gaze to Cullen, and he watched for a moment with a half-smile on his face before whirling around to face the crowd.

 

“Inquisition! Will you follow? Will you fight? Will we triumph?”

 

Fists driven into the air and cheers, louder and louder, punctuated each of Cullen’s questions, and Tasnim parted her lips just slightly to accommodate her quickening breath. A year ago – even just months ago – she would have fled from half as many faces turned towards her as there were in the crowd below, but the person she was then bore little resemblance to the person she had become, the occasions to which she’d risen. She straightened to her full height as Cullen spoke again, heart beating wildly against her ribs.

 

“Your leader! Your Herald!” Cullen drew his sword and the metallic scrape of the blade on its scabbard drew Tasnim’s mind into focus as he lifted it towards her.

 

“Your Inquisitor!”

 

The crowd’s cheers rose and rose to a deafening roar and Tasnim thrust the sword into the air without a second thought, eyes blazing. Her pulse came fast but steady, her breath deep as her fears, her doubts, her regrets all fell to kindling for the long-smoldering determination that had finally ignited inside her. She still felt the dread, the doubt. Fear had not left her. It wouldn’t, but she had grown stronger than it. The memory of her failures would never fade completely, but she would no longer drown in them, and instead, use them to claw upwards – the memories a silent reminder to work harder, to do better. As she lofted the sword higher above the crowd she made a silent oath to them, to Thedas, and to herself that she would not falter, not now, not ever again, not even at the end of her strength.

 

There was so much she didn’t know, so much she didn’t understand, but she would not fail. She would struggle, yes, but she would learn – she wouldn’t stop until it was done. She would lead. She would fight. She would triumph. She had to.

 

She was the Inquisitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo glad to have another chapter out, haha. sorry it took so long! 
> 
> i hope you are enjoying this (and Tasnim!) so far.


	9. Kadan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Would’ve missed you.” Bull grunted, settling back, and casting his eye back towards the dice that danced across the table. They were mostly unnoticed by the members of the Chargers, who had all but forgotten the game, lost in their conversation. Grim reached forward to scoop up the dice and Tasnim watched, happy to settle into a few moments of thoughtless, comfortable silence._
> 
> 9:42, Dragon Age

Tasnim straightened with a soft sound, screwing her burning eyes shut as she stretched. Her back ached, and the anchor had her entire hand stiff and sore, tendons drawn back like bowstrings under the thing’s influence. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been staring at the map, searching it for answers that weren’t there, but Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine had all bidden her a sympathetic farewell and retired to their own business long before. Tasnim hadn’t yet learned to relent with the grace that they did in the face of a lost cause. Instead, she stood there, tight-jawed, a fruitless maelstrom of thoughts drawing the little energy she had left to give. With the day’s failure weighing heavier on her shoulders with each passing moment, she was forced to accept the fact that she could do no more.

The massive oaken door of the war room thudded solidly shut behind her as she slipped out into the hallway. She didn’t linger to listen to the iron fitting clanging shut on the other side, walking through the adjoining corridor and Josephine’s office to reach the great hall.

The guards on either side of the throne saluted after a sleepy moment, drawing their fists to their chests. She nodded at them, returning the gesture absently before trudging onward. The hall, with the exception of the guards, was empty but for a few lingering nobles and pilgrims. The chatter of the crowds that filled the space during the day would have been a comfort but the soft murmuring of a handful of people in that vast, echoing space was little better than the suffocating silence she’d left behind. She continued onward, down the stairs and through the courtyard, far too intent on her destination to stop and see a night sky full to bursting with stars.

As she entered Herald’s Rest, the familiar ambience of the late hour enveloped her, and she relaxed, if only a little. Soldiers talked amongst themselves, the low hum of their combined voices occasionally punctuated by a laugh or a popping log in the hearth. Cabot gave her an owlish nod as she entered, and started to reach back to find a bottle for her but stopped as she shook her head. She took a few more hesitating steps forward, scanning the tavern and looking past glassy-eyed patrons and their more conscious companions for the objects of her search.

As she had hoped they would be, some of the Chargers were still sitting in the back and she walked towards them. Krem almost spilled what little was left of his wine on the table as he caught sight of her, and the soldier he was talking to – a pretty, dark-skinned elf woman – laughed. Even so, Krem did manage his usual ‘your worship.’

Bull was there too, of course, slumped back in his chair, loosely gripping an empty flagon. He was bleary-eyed, inhabiting that strange space between the peak of a night of drinking and the sleep that inevitably followed, but his smile as he saw Tasnim was genuine. Even the tightness in her marked hand lessened as she let the easy warmth of that smile wash over her. She took a moment to ease her aching body into the seat next to his and he shifted, thick fingers brushing over her back as he wrapped an arm around her.

“Hey, boss.” He turned his head slightly, pressing a quick, clumsy kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Glad you made it.”

Warmth welled up in Tasnim’s chest.

“Me, too,” she replied, quietly, glancing up at him with a small smile on her lips.

“Would’ve missed you.” Bull grunted, settling back, and casting his eye back towards the dice that danced across the table. They were mostly unnoticed by the members of the Chargers, who had all but forgotten the game, lost in their conversation. Grim reached forward to scoop up the dice and Tasnim watched,happy to settle into a few moments of thoughtless, comfortable silence.

“You’ll get it tomorrow.” Bull’s words startled her out of her daze, but they were just as warm and genuine that smile had been. She glanced up at him, lips parting slightly as he continued. “If anyone can figure this shit out, it’s you, Kadan.”

Tasnim paused, swallowing hard, and reached up to touch the hand resting on her shoulder. She smiled, wider than she had in days, and he drew her closer as she let her head rest on his shoulder.


	10. Tasnim: Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> 
> 
>  
> 
> _“Clever hands, bright eyes, fifteen years since I last saw her smile. Regret like a rock in my stomach. Should have made her stay, should have made her see, but she was so sure. Better to forget, but I never could.” Cole lifted his head, turning to lock his pale eyes on Tasnim’s. “In her mind she has to mourn you, but... you’re here. Why does she think you’re dead?”_
> 
> 9:44, Dragon Age  
> 

When she'd first come back to consciousness after the loss of her forearm, Tasnim had the bittersweet thought that at least with the mark gone sleep might come easier.

 

She hadn’t anticipated the sensation of a limb that was no longer - the burning, the numbness, the tension that strained relentlessly against muscles that weren't. Even if there had been nothing left to feel of her arm, the world she’d built crumbled around her while she lay weak and powerless to act against it. That was more than enough to keep her from sleep, and tonight was no different. She lay motionless, staring at the papered wall of her Halamshiral quarters. The same flowers and birds that had always adorned the walls were still there, unchanged, still as meaningless as before. Bull grunted in his sleep beside her, sliding one hand up to rest on his chest. Tasnim glanced towards him and for a moment she considered reaching out to touch his hand - but no. She rolled onto her side carefully and pushed herself up to sit, turning to slide her legs carefully off the side of the bed. If Bull could find sleep, she wouldn’t keep it from him. He’d stayed up with her too many nights already as she paced or stared or read the same reports over and over, the edges of the pages worn by her fingertips. 

 

Tasnim set her feet solidly on the marble floor, reassuring herself she would be able to balance before standing. As she crossed the room, stiff-legged and sore, she lifted her dressing gown from the chair where she’d left it. Of all the things she needed to learn to do with one hand, this was one of the easier. She shuffled it  around her shoulders, pinning the fabric to a side table with the top of her thigh as she fumbling to fasten the toggle that kept it closed. It was worn almost through at the elbows, the hem splitting at her collar, and the sheen of the dove grey silk had dulled since she first received it after the Winter Ball, and it had served her well ever since. As she crossed the room, though, she was keenly aware of the empty sleeve bumping against her hip with each step.

 

The balcony door shut with a gentle click behind her and she paused to take in the view, tired eyes burning. To say she was emotionally uninvolved would be as much of a lie as it had always been, but at least for a few days, she felt at the end of her reserves. The devastation Solas could bring was so tangible, so imminent, and she knew if she were to look directly into the face of her failure to protect Thedas it would destroy her completely. That couldn't happen, not yet. Her work was not yet done, and she couldn't bring herself to face it. Not yet.The gardens of the palace stretched out in front of her, the grand hunting grounds shadowy and imposing in the distance. The world outside had become so suddenly uncertain, but here, nothing seemed to have changed. Nor would it until the damn sky came down, she thought darkly, but the earthy smell of late summer filled her lungs, and she let the thought go. 

 

She sat slowly, leaning against the still-warm wall and stretching her legs out so her ankles fit between the bars of the balcony railing. Though the questions still bounced around in her skull, she’d given up trying to make sense of it all. Even when fully awake, there were no answers - and if she thought too hard, if she let herself fall into the pit growing in her mind, she knew she would not be able to move past her failure. She closed her eyes, trying to turn her mind to something else.

 

“Wake up shaking – can’t remember the nightmare but everything is cold, too cold, _ice_ under my fingers, but it's summer. It's - wrong, _I'm_ wrong,  _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry_.”

 

Tasnim opened her eyes as Cole’s voice reached her ears, turning her head just slightly towards him. She was too tired to be startled, especially by a voice as familiar as his. She didn’t interrupt as Cole continued, turning one of Krem’s smaller stuffed nugs in his hands.

 

“Hands on my face, warm and soft, the smell of rain as she pulls me close. Lips on my forehead like a patch of sun.” Cole ran his thumb over a threadbare patch on the toy, voice slowing. “ _It’s alright, iimekari. I’m here. I’m here_.”

 

Tasnim remained silent, watching him with half-open eyes as she waited for him to continue. Something about the memory in his voice was a comfort. He hesitated, tilting his head just slightly as though listening before he spoke again.

 

“Clever hands, bright eyes, fifteen years since I last saw her smile. Regret like a rock in my stomach. Should have made her stay, should have made her see, but she was so sure.” Cole lifted his head, turning to lock his pale eyes on Tasnim’s as she stared. “In her mind, she has to mourn you, but that's wrong. You’re here. Why does she think you’re dead?”

 

Tasnim’s mouth went dry.

 

“Who are you hearing?” She managed after a few moments, the words catching on a growing lump in her throat.

 

“Why are you asking if you already know?” Cole sounded genuinely curious, but quickly his expression shifted and he cast his eyes down, shaking his head slightly. “Fifteen years - Kost, Tama, afraid but not for herself, crying as I walk away. Proud, stupid, smoke choking, heat all – oh, no. This is wrong, I touched too much, and – ”

 

She hadn't realized how much she was shaking until Cole stopped talking, watching her in anxious silence. Even then, it took her a few moments to find words, and when she managed to speak them they were desperate and hoarse.

 

"No, Cole, I... please." She swallowed hard, forcing her eyes down down and taking a fistful of the silk robe to try and still herself. "She's... she's alive?"

 

“Always so dark inside, even after all the good.” Cole’s voice was hesitant, but he continued as Tasnim glanced upwards towards him. “It hurt, but she doesn’t blame you. The mark made you too... loud, I could never hear her before.”

 

Tasnim relaxed her fist, staring into her lap as the ache in her chest grew.

 

“She thinks about me?” She murmured, trying to keep the tremor from her voice.

 

“Yes." Cole tucked the nug between his palms. "More than she thinks she should."

 

“Where is she?” Tasnim asked, hesitantly, her voice barely audible under the sounds of the night. “Cole, do you know?”

 

Cole glanced up towards the forest, setting the nug down carefully at his side before shuffling to his knees and lifting one hand to point with a pale, slender finger.

 

“Dark, and quiet, but she can hear the sea. It doesn’t hurt anymore." He almost smiled as he spoke, and Tasnim remembered her mother's smile with a tightening chest. "She can _help_ there, and that doesn’t hurt anymore, either. Exciting, like the first time, and it _means_ something - mending what’s broken, tending what's sick. Help the hurt. I like her.”

 

Northeast. The Free Marches, even after all this time? Or Nevarra? It could be anywhere along the northern coast, but Tasnim couldn't imagine they - or, only Kost - would have come so far into the cold even after all this time.

 

She paused, swallowing, then looked up to face Cole. "Could you put it on a map? Like you did with the Templar?"

 

“I think so. It's... not as strong. I'm glad.” His voice wavered and when he spoke again, it was softly, almost curiously. “She calls you by  _your_ name. I didn't know you had a name.”

 

“It’s not mine. Not anymore.” The thought spilled from her before she could stop it and she regretted it immediately - it sounded bitter and petulant out in the air but Cole wasn’t deterred. Of course he wasn’t.

 

“You don’t think you’re the same person she remembers, but you are always you. Just... more.”

 

“I… thank you.” Tasnim ran a hand over her face with a small smile and a sniffle, turning her head to look out over the balcony.

 

“Will you find her?” 

 

Tasnim hesitated, blinking tears from her eyes as half-comprehended questions and doubts pounding dully through her mind. She turned to look at Cole, swallowing and lifting her head high.

 

“I’ll try.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> comments are always welcome. please feel free to put your thoughts out there!


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